


After Hours

by jokocraft



Category: X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies)
Genre: House M.D. AU, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-20
Updated: 2017-07-20
Packaged: 2018-12-04 19:58:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11562273
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jokocraft/pseuds/jokocraft
Summary: House M.D. with Erik as House and Charles as Wilson.





	After Hours

**Author's Note:**

> Not edited, my apologies.

Outside the office window, rain poured. Only hours ago, the weather had been clear for the first time in two weeks. Everyone around the hospital was talking about their plans to spend the weekend outside. But, the reprieve wasn’t meant to be. Erik was fairly certain that he was the only person around who was glad it was gloomy again. 

“Should I just put your name on the door, too?” Charles asked, closing the door. “Don’t tell me you’re here to complain about the rain of all things. I’ve heard enough from everyone else.” 

Erik didn’t turn around. “Just the opposite. Now that your plans to stroll around some park are ruined, I came to collect on something you owe me.” 

“What’s that?”

Erik heard Charles cross the room and sit down at the desk chair, immediately shuffling papers and scribbling things. Erik didn’t take his eyes from the people dashing around in the rain below. 

“A chess game, of course.” He shifted, and his leg ached. He gripped his cane tighter. “Four months ago you said if I took a case that was being harped on all over the hospital, you would treat me to dinner and a game of chess. Since it took until the woman almost died three times for me to actually consider it, I thought we could compromise and just do the chess.” Finally Erik turned around and leaned against the sill. 

Charles raised an eyebrow at him. “Four months ago?” he asked. “I remember the case, but I don’t remember any kind of deal.” He looked back down at an open file. 

Erik frowned. “I’m still going to hold you to it, whether you remember or not.”

“How do I know you’re not making this up?” Charles asked, failing to hide his grin.

“Does that sound like something I would do?”

Charles looked up at the ceiling as if to consider that. “Does that sound like something you would do…maybe not. But I wouldn’t necessarily put it past you. Especially if you’re in one of your moods.”

“Which mood is that?” Erik asked, glancing down at his aching leg. When he looked up, Charles was balancing his head on his steepled fingers. 

“Your ‘desperate for company but not willing to admit it gracefully’ mood, of course.” 

It irked Erik that Charles’s expression wasn’t mocking. If anything, Charles sounded fond. Erik sighed. “And I suppose you’re in a ‘humor him for the sake of encouraging his vulnerable side and feed my own ego’ mood? Or better known as ‘manipulative’?” 

Charles leaned back and rolled his eyes. “God, I’m not being manipulative. Defensive much?”

Erik smirked when he realized what was going on. “Stalling much? You _do_ want to play chess but you don’t want to ‘admit it gracefully’ either. Great, I’ll come over at seven tomorrow. Actually, seven _tonight_ , since you deserve to be off your game.” 

“Why do I deserve an uninvited friend coming to my house when I won’t even be there?” 

“You tried to claim you don’t remember our deal. I know you remember. Why won’t you be there?”

“None of your business,” Charles said, rather weakly. 

Erik raised an eyebrow. “That can only mean you have a hot date or absolutely no plans and are lying through your teeth.” 

Charles flushed instantly, giving him a exasperated, disbelieving look. “It’s none of your business.” 

“Fine. Tomorrow then. But I’ll want to know all about your hot date.”

“No you won’t.” 

“No, I won’t,” Erik said lightly. “Good catch. You’re as brilliant as ever.” 

“Thanks,” Charles muttered as Erik walked out—as if he’d only been loitering there for two minutes rather than two hours. Avoiding the rest of the hospital. But now that Charles’s office was contaminated by the choking smell of hopeless romanticism, the hospital was the lesser of two evils. 

-

That night, Erik sat at home in front of a dark television screen, staring out at the rain again. He had his bad leg propped up and cane flung next to him on the couch. He tried to think about his underlings, Raven, Alex, Hank, and Sean. They had been particularly hormonal lately, and Erik had been on the verge of actually _doing_ something about it. Mostly because dealing with four more cases of hopeless romanticism—now five, including Charles apparently—was about as intolerable to him as burning alive. 

At least Raven wasn’t ‘in love’ with him anymore. She had finally caught on to the fact that Erik wasn’t the prince she was looking for, and Hank had finally caught onto how acting like one could help get himself into her league. Alex had finally stopped profusely denying Erik’s joking reference of a certain Armando Munoz as his boyfriend. Sean was crushing on _another_ nurse down at the clinic, and seemed to be having some success this time, too, since he wasn’t bitching about Hank and Raven so much anymore. 

After thinking about it for about three moments longer than he would think about brushing his teeth, Erik came to the conclusion that intervention (punishment) wouldn’t be necessary. He’d let things work themselves out in the past. Sometimes that worked, and sometimes that led to women nearly dying three times. 

Against Erik’s will, Charles wandered back into his thoughts. The only date Erik could imagine Charles having who wasn’t a total stranger was Moira MacTaggart, a new lead accountant downstairs. He met her once when she investigated a certain issue with unscheduled scans which, as she explained, ‘cost time and money.’ She seemed smart, and she hadn’t completely cowed under Erik’s abrasiveness. If anything, she cowed to Charles’s insistence that Erik’s ‘personal errands’ were usually docked directly from his pay and she was free to do the same.

Erik hadn’t even remembered to hate him for it, because he was distracted by the vibe between Charles and MacTaggart. Not quite chemistry, but more than pleasantry on autopilot. 

Stewing in his own thoughts, he almost didn’t hear the knocking at his door. Erik narrowed his eyes and slowly got up with his cane. Not bothering to check the peephole, Erik jerked the door open, ready to tell off whichever neighbor thought it was a good idea to ask him some mundane question about their health. 

But it was Charles, who shoved past him before Erik could say a word. Erik followed him to the living room and frowned when Charles opened the liquor cabinet. He searched for a scathing remark, but came up with nothing.

“Part of me wants to tell you what happened, because I want to feel sorry for myself,” Charles said, carefully scanning his choices. “And another part of me knows that’s a terrible idea since you’ll have no sympathy anyway.”

Erik wandered back to the couch and sat down again. “Is there cause for sympathy?”

“No,” Charles said, choosing quantity over quality with a fat bottle of wine that was clearly on the cheap end. “None at all, and that’s why I shouldn’t tell you anything.”

“I see.” Erik inclined his head. “So I’m about to be basking how I was right about your love life all along? Again?”

Charles gave him a dirty look, but set two glasses on the coffee table and filled them generously. Then he paused, looking at the couch where Erik sat, then the armchair across from it. He stepped forward, picked up Erik’s cane, and sat down next to Erik with it. 

“Yes, he said, “but at least give me the satisfaction of correctly guessing that you’ve been sitting here doing nothing for several hours, probably frowning at the rain, and lamenting your life.” 

Erik couldn’t help but grin. “Is it really a guess if you know you’re right?” 

Charles picked up his glass of red wine and sniffed it reluctantly. “This is going to be awful, isn’t it?” 

“Well, you should have—” Erik began, but Charles was already drinking it like water. 

When Charles set the glass down again, he closed his eyes briefly. “Just awful. Perfectly awful.” 

Erik stared at him and said nothing. Charles wouldn’t meet his eyes. Erik kept staring.

“I messed it up,” Charles said, clenching his jaw. “I misjudged her. She misjudged me. It didn’t work out.” 

“Misjudged?” Erik sneered. “Did you have an interview beforehand? Misleading icebreakers?” 

Erik glanced at his own full glass while Charles took back his and took another long drink. “Let’s just say I broke the ice too hard, too soon.” 

“Sounds like hot date to me.”

But Charles was too worked up to joke around. When he finally glanced at Erik, his eyes were confused and desperate. “All I did was mention work!” 

“How many times have I told you that talking about cancer isn’t first date material, Charles?” Erik didn’t know why he wanted to keep a light mood where there was none. 

“And when I complained—just a _little_ —about how money had been recently reallocated at the expense of supporting terminal patients—trying to talk about something related to her job…I didn’t realize I was _directly_ offending her assignment. What are the odds?” Charles shook his head, staring ahead at nothing. 

Erik pursed his lips a moment. Despite what Charles said earlier, he couldn’t deny he was feeling a tingling of sympathy. “Maybe if you kept up with hospital news instead of stuffing your nose in a file all day, you would know that she and the others were hired first and foremost _to_ help restructure the budget.” 

“I’ve been busy,” Charles dismissed. “I was just trying to make conversation.”

Mustering his most unimpressed expression, Erik waited until Charles finally met his eyes. “Let me guess, you started a ‘discussion’ instead.” 

Charles blinked, then lowered his head into his hands. “Like I said, I misjudged. She didn’t strike me as a person who preferred small talk.” 

“Charles, Charles, Charles.” Erik let out an exaggerated breath, “Giving her the benefit of the doubt, she probably didn’t prefer it. But she probably preferred a work-related debate even less.” 

“I didn’t _mean_ it to be. She didn’t try to change the subject.”

“Because she felt the need to defend her work, obviously.”

“Why are you defending _her?_ ” Charles scowled and took another drink. His eyes were red. “Is this the part where you diagnose me as undatable?” 

“Negative for Romancing Capability,” Erik corrected. “I already did. On more than once occasion, I think.”

Charles slouched back against the couch. “It’s really true, isn’t it? You’re right about the worst things, as usual.” Charles finished his first glass while Erik failed to answer right away. “My personality really _is_ too brazen. I really am too tactless and too unobservant and too opinionated. I really can’t romance anyone, can I? Not as myself, anyway. Not without pretending to be an entirely different person.” He poured a second glass and didn’t hesitate to down it quicker than the first. They sat in silence as Erik sipped at his first glass and Charles dived into a third. 

“I said all those things at least three years ago,” Erik said eventually. “But I suppose they’re easier to remember than a promise to play chess.” 

Charles huffed a disbelieving sound. “Yeah, Erik, just a little easier.”

“I didn’t expect you to speak to me again after that argument, you know. I honestly didn’t.”

“That was your entire goal, though, wasn’t it?” Charles asked, turning his head to glare daggers at Erik. “I spoke to you again exactly for that reason, _because_ I knew you didn’t want me to. It was the most civil way I could think of to get even.” Charles focused on his wine again.

“Civil,” Erik muttered. He rubbed discreetly at his leg. “Should have known you weren’t being your typical oblivious self. What was that argument even about anyway?” 

Charles thought about it. “A woman who lived my old apartment building had just broken up with me. I was so upset I couldn’t work properly. You…” Charles set down the bottle and glass and grinned suddenly. “You got me so angry that…I remember…for the first time in weeks…” Charles shrugged. “Well, people stopped filing complaints about me. Except you, of course.” 

“You’re welcome,” Erik said.

Charles shoved him a little, smiling openly now. “You weren’t being clever, you were just being an ass.”

“Probably.” 

And then Charles was looking into his eyes. They were bright from the alcohol, but not unfocused. “You may say I’m incapable of romancing others, but I think I still beat you, by a little bit.” 

“But I’ve fully accepted it, which is more than you…” Erik paused. “A little bit? What’s ‘a little bit’ supposed to mean?”

Charles’s cheeks were pink, probably from the wine, and he poured himself another glass of shitty wine. He couldn’t seem to stop grinning. “You have no proof of romancing a single person on the planet, but I can attest to romancing at least one,” he said nonchalantly, holding up a finger. “Why do you think everyone comes to me when you rampage? Why haven’t you kicked me out yet at this hour? Why do you spend almost as much time in my office as yours? You see, I _am_ clever. How do you know I haven’t been subtly manipulating you into falling in love with me all these years?” 

Erik amused expression felt awkwardly frozen. “How would that the same as romancing? All I see is that you’re admitting to being manipulative.” 

“I’ll admit it if you admit to being desperately lonely,” Charles said, his expression still unreadable. 

“Is that want you want to believe?” Erik asked, trying to aim for the same thing. “My alleged loneliness would lend itself well to your hypothetical seduction, after all.” 

Charles’s face finally cracked into exasperated fondness as he laughed. “No, I don’t _want_ to believe you’re lonely.” He smirked slightly. “Because that would mean my manipulation failed miserably, wouldn’t it?” 

“Not necessarily,” Erik said, pretending to consider it. His other limbs felt almost as painfully numb as his injured one. “You could, hypothetically, have manipulated me into feeling lonely whenever I’m _not_ around you. You could have purposefully highlighted everyone’s else’s lack of…whatever it is you have, and skewed my perception of that insufficiency of personality as an insufficiency of connection. And voila, I feel something for you that I can’t with anyone else.”

When Erik glanced at Charles, Charles’s expression was a little more sobered, a little less relaxed. 

“Don’t you mean, voila, you fall in love with me?” Charles asked.

“You like saying that, don’t you?”

“Maybe I do,” Charles said, his tone slightly on edge. “Stop deflecting.”

Erik forced an easy smile. “Your childish desire for someone to fall in love with you is embarrassing. But, then again, everyone who’s told they’re negative for Romancing Capability behaves this way, so don’t beat yourself up. Those symptoms are normal.” 

“It’s not childish!” Charles laughed. “It is embarrassing, but it’s not childish.” 

“No? In my experience, everyone I’ve worked with who’s ‘fallen in love’ has been a child.” 

“Children as in the full grown adults you abuse at work?” Charles took a last sip of his forth—fifth?—glass of wine and set it down to adjust himself on the couch to face Erik. “Are you implying that you’ve never wanted someone would fall in love with you?”

Without warning, Erik’s chest clenched. The dim light of the side table lamp illuminated Charles’s eyes just right, emphasizing their singular shade of ocean blue. His shoes were off, he’d taken off his dinner jacket. His hair had been combed through with his fingers too many times, which Erik thought made Charles look stupid and brilliant. 

Charles looked younger and comfortable and like he really wanted to know Erik’s answer. 

“How would I know?” Erik asked, sounding subdued. 

“How would you know what?” Charles cocked his head. “If you wanted someone—?”

“You asked me,” Erik said. “‘How do you know I haven’t been manipulating you into falling in love with me?’ You tell me. How would I know?”

Charles’s eyes went wide and he opened his mouth, but he was speechless. 

Erik smirked. “Really, Charles. I can’t admit I’m desperately lonely because I’m not. But I do admit that, sometimes,” he tried to huff out a laugh to relieve the tension in his body, “I’m desperate for _your_ company. You’re more tolerable than the rest.” 

In his mind, Erik panicked for a way out of the hole he was digging. He picked up his own wine glass and ignored the taste. “Say you hypothetically succeeded. What’s more satisfying? Knowing that you were able to romance _me_ or knowing that you were able to romance anyone while being _yourself?_ ” 

Charles didn’t answer. His expression had become unreadable again. 

“Say you hypothetically succeeded,” Erik continued, gaining momentum. “Would it bother you that you had to resort to manipulation to get someone besides your sister to love you? Could you love anyone back knowing your connection may not be more than a byproduct of loneliness?” 

There was silence between them. Charles’s expression became slowly darker. Angrier.

“Do you think it’s funny?” Charles snapped. “Psychoanalyzing me in the most self indulgent, condescending way possible?” Charles stood and nearly knocked over both glasses, but he didn’t seem to notice. “I was just…” Charles hesitated. “Making conversation. I don’t give a damn whether you love me or anyone, because I know that’s what _you’re_ not capable of. I don’t care whether you’re the loneliest soul on the goddamn planet, because I know you like it that way. _That’s_ what’s romantic to you, your own sob story.” The alcohol was no doubt contributing to the tears beginning to brim over. “Do you think it’s funny watching how I react to bullshit like _‘_ I’m desperate for _your_ company?’ You are a complete ass.” 

“You still haven’t answered any of my questions,” Erik said, calm as still water. 

“Fuck your questions, Erik! Fuck you hypotheticals. I can’t manipulate you to do anything, and if I thought I could hypothetically get you to fall in love with me, I would have checked myself into a psychiatric ward for experiencing grossly egomaniacal thoughts.” He finally took a breath. “I may not be a genius like you, but I’m smart enough. In fact, I’m smart enough to leave now, before I say anything else you could use against me.” 

Charles stumbled around the couch and to the door. “Can’t even have a normal conversation with you,” he muttered. “Why am I even friends with you? Oh—that’s right—” He turned to Erik. “Because I feel _sorry_ for you. Have a nice evening.” He opened the door. “Anything to say for yourself before I go? I know if you love anything, it’s the last word.” 

Erik turned his head back slightly. “Just that I look forward to your next attempt to get even with me. I’d prefer if you weren’t so civil. ” 

Charles glared at him, then left, making a point of not slamming the door. 

A minute passed. Erik felt a little disappointed that the conversation went the way it did. But it had to, and so he made it. He was pretty sure he hadn’t said anything completely unforgivable. 

Erik stretched out horizontally on the couch and decided maybe he would just sleep there for the night. Ten more minutes passed.

Then the door opened again. Erik sighed. “Forget something?” 

The sound of Charles’s familiar gait approached slowly. Erik opened his eyes, and Charles was standing by the couch again. His arms were crossed over his chest, but his expression wasn’t quite angry anymore. 

“You were being clever,” Charles said quietly. “You did get me angry on purpose three years ago.” 

Erik stared up at him. “I got sick of your moping. It was depressing. You shouldn’t cry over girls, Charles, you’re too old for that.”

“But it’s okay for me to cry when it’s your fault, is that it?” 

“My fault or the alcohol’s fault?” Erik smirked. “But, yes, that’s slightly more acceptable.”

Charles stared, waiting for more, but Erik just shrugged. Then Charles let out a breath, looking at a loss. “Why would you risk our friendship just so I could get over Moira quicker?” 

“I knew you’d forgive me,” Erik said, stretching out a little bit more and closing his eyes again. Maybe it wasn’t the whole truth, but it was close enough. 

“Five minutes ago, I was seriously wondering if I should.” 

“Why?” 

“Because…You can’t just…You can’t just say all that stuff when you don’t really mean it,” Charles said. “Just for future reference. It’s…not very nice.” 

“How do you know I didn’t mean it?”

An annoyed sound. “I _know_ , Erik. Why are you still playing games?”

Erik opened his eyes. “Am I laughing?”

Charles’s eyes slowly became vulnerable again as the seconds ticked by in silence. “Are you in love with me?”

Should he give Charles the whole truth? Would it be worth it? Erik had asked himself these questions before, but never had been faced with a question like this. 

He hated having to face his own problems, but sometimes it was necessary. 

Erik stood up as best he could without his cane, Charles automatically lending support, and looked Charles in the eye. There was just something in them that wasn’t anyone’s elses. Erik leaned in, analyzing Charles’s reaction and his own, and then…Charles met him halfway. The kiss stretched out, and Erik realized he didn’t care how he was so in love, only that he was, with this man, who was so unlike everyone else. 

Nothing about the realization felt childish at all. 


End file.
